Sam turned around and stared at the bank of the river below. "Are those fishing rods?" he said, pointing.
Dilbo followed the line of him arm. "Looks like it. Who's left them there?"
"Dunno, but I'm having a go. " Sam led the way from the bridge to the river below. "They're good rods, these. My dad had rods like these."
"Do you know how to do it?" Dilbo spent a moment trying to catch the end of the line, succeeded, then spent a further minute disentangling the hook from his hand. "Fishing, I mean."
"'Course I do." Sam beamed. It was rare he had a skill Dilbo hadn't. "Just do what I do." He slapped Dilbo's arm.
"Okay." Dilbo slapped his arm. "The only fishing in Birmingham was on the canals and you were as likely catching leptospirosis as a stickleback there."